


want 2 be your beast

by desla_be



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cinnamonroll!Sandor, Drunk Texting, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desla_be/pseuds/desla_be
Summary: This is a drunk texting scenario, a prompt from a fic that I read from SassyEggs’ page (Sweet Nothings).Basically Sandor gets wasted and drunk-texts Sansa about his feelings for her. I’ve only loosely followed the prompt, though— I think it was 500 words maximum? And the drunk texting leads up to Sansa going over to his apartment.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 140





	want 2 be your beast

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sweet Nothings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13361619) by [SassyEggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs). 



> Hiiiii guys, I used a fake text conversation app to create their texts and omg it was a huge pain in the ass! 😂 I spent more than an hour alone producing their conversation between 1.) finding an app that didn’t only give you 5 texts for a “free trial,” 2.) restarting because the app i chose randomly quit? 3.) some apps won’t let you delete! As soon as you mess up, you have to start all over again. So annoying, but so worth it because I think this idea is super cute. 
> 
> I also spent so much time trying to put in those screen shots! I started this fic yesterday and I’ve literally not done anything but write and edit and play with dumb apps for about 7 hours now. So worth it though! I just wish I was faster.
> 
> This is basically just drunk, fluffy word vomit. I typically read my characters’ dialogue out loud for the final edit— to make sure all the lines sound like things people could actually say?— but i STILL left all of this rubbish in. I’m sorry lol, I am a sucker for drunk drabbles, and even more of a sucker for cinnamonroll!Sandor.
> 
> So sorry if any of Sandor’s texts are illegible... he doesn’t use autocorrect.

Sandor typed up _do you like mine back?_ But before he sent it, he left the messaging app and opened his phone’s camera. Even drunk, he was nervous to see his reflection and his index finger hovered over the reverse button.

He managed to click it and his face came into view. Half a bottle of _bojalis_ or _beaujolais_ or whatever the hell it was didn’t make it any easier to see the damned scars.

Of _course_ she didn’t like them back, what was he thinking? She’d have to be insane, or maybe blind, to like any of his features.

Sandor went back in to delete the message he’d typed but his screen changed back to his reflection and her contact name appeared. The phone was vibrating in his hands. It said _Incoming FaceTime Call_. Sandor swiped in.

Her face filled up the big phone screen, her bright red hair taking up the vast majority. She had a mint beanie on and her lips perked up when she looked at him.

“Hi,” Sandor blurted out, trying to see her clearly while also trying to hold the phone as far away from his face as possible, despite knowing that she’d seen his face hundreds and hundreds of times. 

“Hi,” Sansa replied. “I’m not very good at _text-flirting_ but I wanted to tell you that you have _beautiful_ eyes, among the nicest I've ever seen.”

Sandor bumped back against the headboard and his skull was quick to let him know. He cursed and rubbed the back of his hand over his head.

“Oh my gosh, Sandor, are you okay?” Her face dropped empathetically but she giggled when he swore.

“Do you mean it?” Sandor asked.

“Do I mean _what?_ ”

“Do you really like my eyes?”

“Yes, Sandor, I _really_ like your eyes,” she said, tilting her head at him slightly.

“I’ve been thinking about you lately,” he admitted. “Well really for the past two years now.”

Sansa’s eyebrows drew inwards softly.

“I know... It’s really stupid...” he continued.

Sansa shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand.

“It’s just that...” Sandor put the phone down and scratched his forearms... and then his thighs... and then his hips and everywhere else that his skin felt like it was peeling off. “The reason I’ve been avoiding you... It’s just really hard for me to be around you nowadays. I want to be near you all the time but it drives me crazy. I wrote about you in my sketchbook, do you want to hear it?”

“I’d love to hear it, Sandor— but only if you want to tell me.” Her voice was slow and long.

_Here goes nothing_. 

Sandor rolled his legs to the side of the bed and when he tried to get up, the floor rose much higher than it usually was, it seemed, and caught him by the scruff of his neck.

“ _Sandor!_ Are you okay?”

The phone had tumbled off so he couldn’t see her. His limbs were slow to obey him and he decided that he didn’t really need to go anywhere after all, did he?

“Not really,” Sandor replied, though he wasn’t referring to the fall. At least... not his fall on the _floor_.

There were motion sounds coming from Sansa’s end. It sounded like metal on metal and the _whoosh_ of a door.

“I’m going to come over,” she said.

The hardwoods seemed very comfortable suddenly, like the most wonderful place to take a nap. Sandor rolled onto his side and rested his head on his upper arm.

“You’re coming over?” He hadn’t exactly cleaned in a while...

“Yes. I'm worried about you. Is that okay?”

Sandor nodded. The couch was in good enough condition for her to sleep comfortably. It was old... but there were only a few lumps and she’d slept on it a dozen times in the past without complaint. 

“Is that okay, Sandor?” she asked again.

“I already said _yes_ ,” he replied shortly.

“You didn’t say anything, actually. My connection is going to suck soon, so I’ll call you back on a regular call.”

He agreed and when she hung up their FaceTime, he lurched over to where his phone had settled so that he could accept her call on the first ring.

“Hi, little bird,” he mumbled.

“Hello, Sandor. Oh,” she coughed, “I mean _Samndor_.”

_Samndor_. Even _that_ sounded good off of her tongue. _Sandor, Samndor_... they weren’t _all_ that different, were they? He could be comfortable with a new name, but only if it was _her_ nickname for him. No one else could use it. 

God, she was so pretty. And she was coming over! Sandor wondered what she was wearing and he began to picture her in her favorite articles of clothing. 

“You know that dress you wear, Sansa?”

“I wear a lot of dresses,” she replied with a snicker.

“No this one is different,” Sandor said defiantly. “This one is... it’s like... it’s yellow... the color of dandelions. Or lemons. You wore it on my birthday last year. And when you hugged me...” he let out a heavy sigh.

“When I hugged you _what_?”

“It looks really good on you, that’s all. Not very unique in that respect, I guess, since I’ve never seen you wear something that didn’t fit perfectly.”

She went on about how he was just _so sweet_. The sweetest. He could hear the music on her radio.

“You know... the things you wear are really nice too...” admitted Sansa.

His ear perked up at that. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Sansa said with a certainty. “You don’t dress up very often, but your clothes are always in perfect condition. The windbreaker that you wear all the time...” she gave a giggle. “It fits you well,” she said. 

It was hard to tell if she was being genuine or if he was just really, _really_ messed up from that wine. He pulled the phone next to his cheek on the floor. “Don’t lie, Sansa. I can sniff ‘em out.”

“Well apparently you can’t because it’s the truth.”

So maybe he was just _really_ fucked up. 

“I guess I don't smell any lies right now,” Sandor relented, “but it still doesn’t make sense,” he grumbled. He would be able to get the truth of it when she showed up. 

He staggered over to his dresser and pulled open the third drawer. He knew it was a bit strange to hide his things when he lived completely alone... but somehow it just felt safer to keep them hidden. He dug under a mess of socks and underwear and pulled out a green sketchbook.

It was the truth... that he’d written about her, but the whole truth was that the entire _sketchbook_ was about her. It always made him feel pathetic and creepy when he finished a drawing of her. Even the most innocent ones: the selfies he’d screenshotted... the photos from her instagram... they always left him with a dirty feeling... But he couldn’t help it. The sketchbook might as well have drawn itself. 

He flipped past a portrait of Sansa that he’d done with charcoals. It was all wrong though, to depict her with hard, black pigment when she was so bright. There was another portrait that that he’d done of her with colored pencils but he sucked at using color so it really didn’t look like her at all, he thought. There were half a dozen more in a row before he found the page he was looking for.

Big white page, it was. Sort of a waste of paper, Sandor thought, to have only filled it up with four words.

He ripped the page out of the book and set it on top of the nightstand and then tucked the sketchbook back into his dresser drawer.

_Oh god_ , she‘s really coming over, isn’t she? Everything was terrible— he hadn’t showered, he hadn’t done the dishes, there was shit all over his bedroom— And his body wasn’t cooperating well with his mind... or was it the opposite? 

Sandor gave himself a whiff under the arms and wrinkled his nose; his shirt was _not_ in an acceptable condition for Sansa’s company. He discarded it into a hamper and shuffled through his other shirts, his head spinning.

Any clean one will do, Sandor decided, and pulled a loose long sleeve over his head.

“Sandor? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Think I’d leave you hanging, little bird?”

“Well... I’m here. Can you let me in?”

Sandor stumbled out of the room to get the door.

“Hi,” Sansa said, on his doorstep in a cropped shirt and plaid pajama pants. She didn’t even have shoes on. 

“Well come in, then,” Sandor barked, extending the door for her entry.

“You didn’t have to come,” he added, scratching the back of his scalp as she shuffled inside, prancing through the apartment that she knew so well.

“You’re my best friend, Sandor. I can’t have you choking on vomit in your sleep,” she said, laughing to herself.

“Think I can’t handle myself, do you?” he asked, keeping himself upright against the wall. “I’ve been drunk before, Sansa.”

“I know that you _can_ , cutie, but you don’t have to be independent _all_ the time.” She took off her beanie and turned back to look at him amidst her calculated path into his kitchen. “And if anyone knows that you’ve been _drunk before_ , Sandor, it’s me.” 

It always stung when she called him _cutie_ and his drunkenness didn’t dull it enough. Her ability to just _say_ it always reminded him that they were friends with a capital “f.”

“It’s okay to let other people take care of you every now and then,” Sansa continued, reaching for a tall glass on the third shelf. “ _Dammit_ , Sandor, why do you always put these glasses up top? You know that I use one every time I come over.”

Sandor walked over to her, to the cabinet, and stretched up to get the glass for her. “Said it yourself, didn’t you?” He handed it over.

“Another one, please.”

Her manners made him feel good in a way that they shouldn’t have. Whenever she said please, or thank you, Sandor... Well, her appreciations made him feel confident and helpful. If he was useful by reaching her things off of the top shelf then it made him feel a little more deserving of her, like that was somehow his _end of the bargain_. 

Sandor gave a sigh and stretched again to retrieve another glass. _Wait_ , “Why do you need _two_? That thirsty, are we, little bird?”

“We are,” Sansa nodded, “this one’s for you.” She filled both glasses up with water, no ice, while Sandor grumbled the whole time. _Don’t want water_ , he said. “Don’t tell me that you had no problem drinking half a bottle of wine but you can’t do one glass of water,” said Sansa.

Sandor, seeing this as a grand challenge, took the glass from her and drank two thirds of it in a couple of sips. He held eye contact with her for as long as he could and when he’d finished, he turned the tap to fill his cup again. He tried to guzzle the second glass down (and he was doing a thorough job) when Sansa held him from knocking all of it back.

“ _Slowly_ ,” she said. “You don’t need to drink so much at once. Where is that bottle of wine anyway? You promised me some and the _Gods know_ I need it.”

Sandor pointed, “It’s in my room. On the nightstand.”

Sansa strolled away. She’d been to his bedroom several times and none of them were satisfactory experiences, in his opinion. 

Sandor leaned up against the counter and upended the rest of the water, ignoring her advice about not drinking it all at once. He wondered if she— _Fuck!_

Sandor raced to his bedroom, which was much harder to do with impaired vision. He tripped over his own feet on the way there and when he made it to his room, his eyes mislead him about the _real_ position of the door and he tripped again and pushed it open.

Sansa had the note in her hands.

“ _Fuck_ , Sansa, you weren’t supposed to see that,” he lumbered over to her. “I was supposed to _give_ it to you.”

Sansa froze, and then nodded quickly, extending the paper to him. “Okay, give it to me.”

Sandor took the paper and furrowed his brows at her. “What? But you already _saw_ it, you—“

  
“I didn’t hear it though...”

His legs started to wobble and for once it wasn’t because of the wine. “Oh... um...” _Shit_. If she wanted him to say it, then that meant she _wanted_ to hear it... _right_? “I...”

_Damn_ _this_ , this was too fucking strenuous. Sandor put the note on the mattress next to him. “I...” _Fuck this!_ Why was it so difficult? It was the same as saying he loved pizza... wasn’t it? They had to be at least a _little_ similar... Although Sandor was confident that he didn’t want to put his dick anywhere near pizza. No... they really weren’t alike, were they? He would be much more comfortable never seeing _pizza_ again...

“Sandor... it’s okay,” said Sansa. “You don’t have to choose between pizza and I.” She was giggling at him and it was _not_ funny.

“ _What?_ What are you talking about?” His first thought was that she was a magician, a psychic— a mystical, mind-reading mermaid, perhaps.

“You were rambling about my likeness to pizza... You said...” Sansa started blushing, and then her face spread into a smile and she covered her mouth.

_Oh god_ , oh no there’s _no way_ he said that out loud. “No no no,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. "I'm ruining everything." His eyes were stinging and...

His body wasn’t warm at all anymore, not like it was when they’d been texting. He’d gone very cold. The wine was supposed to get him through this part, not sober him up right before he utterred the buggering words. 

“It’s okay,” Sansa said, putting her hand on his upper arm. “I know, Sandor. You don’t have to say it.”

Sandor grabbed her by the shoulders. “Yes I _do_!” he barked. It was just four words, and she’d already read them right off of the paper. “I _love_ you, Sansa. I know that I’m just your friend but you’re not just mine. I love you so much. I love you more than I love _pizza_ ,” he growled, nearly shouting the information at her. He reached over for the bottle of wine she’d left untouched. “And I love you more than this shit— and I have an abundance of both in my kitchen.” He pointed to clarify which kitchen.

Sandor put the wine back on the nightstand. His breathing leveled, his shoulders settled and he removed his other hand from Sansa. His blood had been replaced by adrenaline. _Shit, I actually did it._ It was going to be okay... because he said it. After keeping it in for so long, he’d finally said it...

“I _really_ love you. Two years now and not one day have I thought of you as a friend.” Sandor winced— _Oh no that didn’t sound right at all_ — and he put his hands out defensively. “ _Shit_ , I mean... You’re my _best_ friend. You’re the only person who really respects me, who really cares whether I live or die. You're the only person who looks me in the fucking face, who doesn't treat me like an experiment gone wrong. I don’t just love you more than _pizza and wine_ , little bird, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone in my life.”

Her eyes were glossy with tears and when he noticed that, he realized that he could feel his own eyes stinging more acutely than they were before. Liquid dripped from his chin. _When did that start up?_ he wondered. He wiped the tears away and scrambled to pull his sketchbook back out of the drawer, letting it fall open on the bed.

“They’re all of you,” Sandor said and watched as she flipped the pages slowly. “Never anyone else.“ His knees were wobbling uncontrollably again and he put a hand on the mattress to try and settle himself down. “I love you more than— _Fuck_ , I _can’t_ , Sansa.” His chest started aching. Didn’t feel like heartburn but maybe it was like some weird variant, Sandor thought. “I know that you deserve someone who knows how to say these things to you without shattering, whose heart doesn’t break every time you call them a _cutie_ — But I’m not him. I don’t know anything about being a boyfriend. The only thing that I do know is that I love you more than life itself but if you only like me as a friend then I understand completely.”

His legs became a part of the hardwoods. “You’ll just have to give me some time, okay? I’ll never get over you but I’d rather have you in my life as a friend than nothing at all, so I’ll try my best to be strong. I’ll never lie to you, so I’ll tell you right here that I don’t think I’ll be able to look you in the face again for a really long time after this. And I’m so sorry.”

Sansa clutched the sketchbook to her chest and sobbed. She was probably wetting the pages with her tears, Sandor assumed, but it was safe to say that the sketchbook was hers now anyway, wasn’t it? It didn’t seem right to show someone a book full of their portraits and _not_ give it to them. Though there were a few that he should definitely rip out first...

“It’s okay,” Sandor said, sniffling gruffly and putting a calming hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be okay. I don’t want you to feel bad about just wanting to be frie—“

Sansa slapped his hand away. “Are you out of your mind, Sandor?” she snapped, somewhere in between fury and despair. “ _Just wanting to be friends?_ I’ve been in love with you for over a year and a half.”

The oxygen was sucked out of his lungs and he was betrayed by his own body to sit on the edge of the bed. He could hardly look at her— as much as he really, _really_ wanted to see her for this. It was much easier to discern a lie with his nose _and_ his eyes. 

“It breaks your heart when I call you _cutie_?” As she was laughing, tears were streaming down her cheeks and it was very disconcerting. “How do you think I felt every single time I made a move on you and you did _nothing_ to show me that you felt the same way?”

Sandor flinched. _Moves?_ “What moves?”

Sansa blinked, mouth agape. “Sandor... you were my date at my first college dance. I brought you as my plus-one to a _wedding_ , Sandor. For heaven’s sake, I got you a _rose_ this _Valentine’s Day!_ _How_ could you think that meant that I just wanted to be _friends_!”

She was simmering with fury now, it was evident even to Sandor, who was not very adept at interpreting others’ feelings apparently.

“What about _this?_ ” Sansa asked, twisting her half of their friendship bracelet in her fingers. She'd given him half of a friendship bracelet on their _one-year anniversary_ of being friends. It did seem a little unusual that she had a friendship bracelet with him and not with Margaery, who she’d been friends with for much longer... but Sandor didn’t think much of it. Once she secured it to his wrist, he never took it off. 

Sandor pointed to the word on her bracelet. “It says ‘friends,’ Sansa. Nothing romantic about ‘friends.’”

She turned his wrist over to point to his half. “But yours says ‘forever,’ Sandor.” Her eyes were so heavy and he felt bad for a completely different reason than he anticipated. “You were supposed to read between the lines at least a _little_ ,” she said. “And besides: I tell you I love you all the time! What _possible_ excuse do you have for misreading _that_?”

Sandor’s back was quivering with tingles, and he had to sit on his hands to stop them from shaking just as badly. “I thought... Well, I’ve heard you tell Margaery that you love her a bunch of times, too.”

Sansa shook her head. “ _No_ , Sandor...” she said, stepping carefully between his knees and putting her hands on his shoulders. “That doesn’t count. You’re the only one that I love. I _love_ _you,”_ she repeated. She smiled sweetly and traced her thumb along his mangled jaw. “I’m sorry for shouting at you. It’s not your fault. I could’ve told you so many times but I was really scared.”

This was all very difficult to process. The fucking _beaujolais_ didn’t do him any favors, either. “Do you _really_...? _Love me?_ ” he asked, wrinkling his brows up at her.

“More than I’ve ever loved anyone before,” the little bird said, pulling his hand from under him so that she could connect their bracelet halves.

She _did_ have some valid points, some events that he really pushed down deeply so as not to consider that she _might_ feel something for him. It was, of course, to avoid embarrassing himself. He was _already_ so embarrassing, but to lose her because he misread some signals? It was just so much easier to lock it inside. 

“So,” Sandor began, shuffling his seat, “you want to be my _girlfriend_? And kiss me and hold hands and go rollerblading and all that shit? With _me_?”

Sansa nodded and wiped a tear off of her cheek. She leaned in to grab him from under the arms and squeezed him so tightly that a grunt came out. “Yes,” she said. “All of that. I’m never going to let you go... But let’s skip the rollerblading; you’re really godawful at it.”

“Okay,” Sandor said, nodding against her shoulder. It seemed like a very, very good plan. “But...” he was really curious about... “do you think... Can you at least kiss me _once_ before our eternity of hugging?”

Sansa chuckled beside his ear. She drew back slightly, holding onto Sandor’s biceps and thus prohibiting him from touching her in return. Her nose bumped his before their lips drew together. They were soft, like clouds. Much softer than he expected. It was a peck, really. Sandor didn’t know what to do and he really hoped he wasn’t underperforming. There was still enough time for her to change her mind. To say _just kidding_. 

More tears fell from Sansa's eyes when she pulled back but she smiled anyway and wiped them off. 

The additional tears caused Sandor to panic and he froze. Tears were no way to celebrate their first kiss. Maybe she really _was_ going to change her mind. His skin felt very cold again. "Did I do something wrong...?"

"No," she laughed. "But if I knew that all it took to get you to open up like this was _half a bottle of Beaujolais_ than I would've been on that _much_ sooner." 

“Me too,” Sandor grumbled. He lifted her underneath the legs and pulled her sideways into his lap. “You could’ve been my beauty all this time. And I, your beast.” 

Sansa shook her head slowly and returned her hand to his cheek. “Not my _beast_ , Sandor. My prince.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to, in the future, maybe have a prequel where they pine for each other with the cute little moments they shared that I hinted at near the end, or a sequel where they... become _acquainted_ with each other. For now, strictly a one-shot.
> 
> Also... I have some battles with the last line, about whether or not Sandor would like her referring to him as a prince— I think he does. Please feel free to interpret however you like, but I think that her last line is a push into an unfamiliar flood of security that Sandor has yet to experience. _What? Someone who, not only can bear to look at me, but thinks that I’m handsome? Princely?_ A concept. 
> 
> Or maybe he gets upset about it and they argue again, and then kiss again— and all that stuff. Anyways thank you so much for reading! You guys make my days with your comments :)


End file.
